


i don't see what anyone can see in anyone else but you

by ticklesdead



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:00:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticklesdead/pseuds/ticklesdead
Summary: "I know you don’t think he’s into you, or whatever your complex of self-pity is telling you. But you can’t deny the way he looks at you. Just think about it, that’s all I’m saying."a team-building weekend at a country hotel with burgeoning feelings and a lot of alcohol. rated m for language but nothing u can't handle if u have seen the show. fair few references to vomit so be warned xalso, if you fancy a sad playlist to listen to, especially during the nighttime scene outside, may i rather selfishly recommend this https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7AKzZQheLkAOGjP4H9Bq6g?si=l4WKcJ6SSKmyq_r9aiO50A
Relationships: Adam Kenyon/Fergus Williams
Comments: 16
Kudos: 61





	i don't see what anyone can see in anyone else but you

“Tell me again why the fuck I’m spending my weekend in the middle of nowhere, learning how to make friends with Tories?” grumbled Adam, hauling his bag into the back of the ministerial car that Fergus had managed to score. They, along with the other party workers in DoSAC and various other departments in the building, had been strongarmed into a “team-building and strategy” weekend, masterminded by Stewart when it became clear early on in the coalition that there was animosity between the parties.

“Count yourself lucky, you could be sharing a room with one. I heard Stewart’s arranged bunk beds for that lot,” Fergus remarked drily, “Something about how you only truly bond when you share a bed.”

“I’d like my foot to bond with his arse,” Adam replied, shutting the car door as he settled in for the journey, “Or perhaps his baldie little head. Seriously, I could have done literally anything better with this weekend. Peeling my own skin off and fashioning it into a noose, maybe.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Fergus tried to reassure him, although he didn’t sound entirely convinced, “I suppose at least we’ll be in it together.”

Adam snorted at that - “You’re turning into Stewart already, Fergs.” He couldn’t help smiling, though, as he turned to face the window. The weekend would definitely be slightly less shit with Fergus.

“At least there’s nothing to do tonight,” Fergus pointed out, “And... I’ve heard there’s an open bar.”

-

They arrived at the hotel, a crumbly country pile somewhere in Hertfordshire, to the sight of Stewart directing cars in a reflective jacket, flanked by Emma and her clipboard. It had started to rain, and Adam was beginning to wonder whether it was too late to turn around and go back to London, when the car drew to a halt, and the door was swung open by the driver. In unison, Adam and Fergus inhaled, and stepped out into the car park with matching grimaces. Inside, they went through the ritualistic greetings with the other departments, all handshakes and snarky comments, before collecting their room keys.

“Not sharing a king-size then, Cinderella and Prince Charming’s twattier, gayer alter-egos?”

Such a shit put-down could only have come from Phil, who leant against the receptionist’s desk with all the charm and elegance of a giraffe on muscle relaxants. 

“No, Phil, although I assume they’ve provided a special little door between yours and Peter’s rooms so you can suck him off on the hour,” Adam retorted, “Or have you just got a little cot next to his bed?” 

If there was one thing that was worse than anything else about this weekend, it had to be the constant presence of Phil and his fucking  _ awful _ insults. Before Fergus could make an ill-advised attempt at a scathing remark back to Phil that would almost certainly be embarrassing for everyone involved, they were ushered out of the lobby by Stewart, and left to wander the corridors to find their rooms. Adam was ever-so-slightly disappointed to discover that they  _ wouldn’t  _ be sharing a king-size due to some kind of convenient error. He would have paid to see Fergus’ face upon discovering one room with only one bed. As it happened, they were in adjoining rooms, which would have to do. The rooms weren’t awful, to Stewart’s credit, although the walls appeared to be made from paper, which was never good at these kinds of things. Inevitably, people would take the phrase “inter-party bonding” too literally - Adam just hoped to god it wouldn’t be anyone on their corridor. Having unpacked quickly, there was fuck-all else to do except get started on the most preferable activity of the weekend. He knocked the thin wall between his and Fergus’ rooms - “Fergs? Fancy a drink?”

From the other side of the wall Fergus smiled like an idiot at Adam’s nickname for him. He knew it was just a matey thing, another way for Adam to exclude Glenn from daily proceedings as much as possible, but the way Adam said it, all earnest and affectionate, never failed to make Fergus feel a bit giddy. He loosened his tie and checked his hair in the mirror, glad at the very least that he was here with Adam.

-

Adam stumbled out onto the patio of the old country house, struck immediately by the silence of the cool, dusky evening. The rain had finally stopped, leaving a freshness in the air that made Adam suddenly aware of his drunkenness. The patio looked out over the countryside, and something about the lack of lights, of cars and buildings made him inexplicably sad. It was almost certainly to do with the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed beginning to do their job as a depressant, but the rural stillness reminded him of the time earlier in the summer when he’d been invited by Fergus to his mother’s house in Sussex, a huge country pile where Fergus was being profiled for his new constituency’s local paper. Adam had been needed to make sure Fergus didn’t say anything career-ending, but had found himself spending most of the weekend wandering through the leafy grounds with Fergus’ mother, who had instantly taken a liking to him and had made him promise to look after her boy. He had laughed at that at the time, a not-particularly-subtle insinuation from Fergus’ mother that perhaps their relationship wasn’t entirely professional, but now that didn’t seem quite so ridiculous. He had had a chance back then, in the exciting first few weeks of the coalition when it seemed like they’d be spending five years making a difference. There had been so many nights out, moments alone, when Adam could have just fucking said something about liking men, some clever joke that would have left the door entirely open for  _ something _ to happen. It was too late now, though. Adam had resigned himself to the fact that Fergus had been seen multiple times coming out of restaurants with Vicky, the woman who lived in the flat below Fergus and had dropped by on the day Adam had helped Fergus move into his Battersea pad with the promise of hot meals and chats whenever they were wanted. He had been incredulous to start with - Fergus Williams talking to,  _ dating _ , a woman? But he couldn’t bring himself to ask about the details, and the photos Emma had sent him certainly seemed to suggest Fergus was indeed dating a real-life woman. 

“Got a light?”

Speak of the devil - Emma had appeared in front of Adam, snapping him from his self-pitying wallow. He nodded, scrabbling through his pockets for the little plastic tube. 

“I wouldn’t have you down for a smoker,” he remarked, as she took a seat next to him on the slightly crumbly wall. Emma rolled her eyes, a familiar orange glow appearing centimetres from her face. 

“Strictly speaking, I gave up a year ago.” She exhaled slowly and deliberately. “But I’m not entirely sober and Phil’s doing my fucking head in, so needs must.” 

Adam laughed - “I know what you mean.” He noticed her shivering in the late August air, and offered up his jacket. She took it with a raised eyebrow, only half-scathing when she called him a patronising twat.    
“Who’s getting on your tits then?” she asked, “Surely not your darling boyfriend?”

That stung -  _ boyfriend _ . It was Emma’s running joke at his and Fergus’ expense, but it almost certainly hit closer to home than she realised.

“He’s not my fucking boyfriend,” Adam retorted far too bitterly, “But yes, I got fed up of babysitting a grown man who can’t handle his alcohol.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching their cigarettes slowly shrink to stubs. Adam lit up two more, conscious that his lungs wouldn’t thank him in the morning but past caring. Tapping ash, Emma looked up at him, frowning.

“He’s really not your boyfriend?” she finally asked, her tone completely serious. Adam scoffed, incredulous at her nosiness.

“Christ, I thought I was the fucking ex-hack. Could you be any more interested in my private life?” He paused, inhaling and resigning himself to the fact that this conversation was happening, and if all else failed it might at least stop her irritating pointed looks whenever he straightened Fergus’ tie or held him back from lamping Peter. “No, he isn’t my boyfriend.”

Emma raised an eyebrow at his barbed tone. “And you’re… okay with that?”

“Yes, I’m okay with that, Emma, what the fuck is this - Question Time?”

Adam was beginning to get annoyed now - he’d come out here for a fag and a mope, not an interrogation from Paxman in heels and a blonde wig. He went to get up, to make some kind of excuse to continue his solitary self-pity, but Emma grabbed his arm.

“No - Adam - sorry - don’t go,” she rushed, and she seemed genuinely upset. Adam didn’t think Emma was capable of emotion, so he acquiesced, leaning back against the wall.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” she continued, stubbing her fag against the stones beneath their feet, “I just see the way you look at him, and the way he looks at you. And I don’t think it’s exactly fucking rocket science that Fergus is about as straight as a rainbow.”

“But - the photos-” Adam frowned, “He’s seeing that girl from his flat.  _ You  _ sent me those photos.”   
Emma laughed, pulling Adam’s jacket tighter - autumn was definitely on its way.

“Come on, Adam, he’s not seeing her. I sent you those as a pisstake, surely you’ve spoken to him about her?”

The awkward silence told Emma everything she needed to know.

“Well look, he’s definitely not straight. And I’ve seen the looks you give him, and the copy of  _ Attitude  _ on your desk.” She gave him a particularly pointed look, more disarming than her usual stare. Adam found himself glad it was almost completely dark, his blush currently resembling that of his curly-haired advisee. He knew exactly what Emma was getting at, and although he had come a long way from the name-calling and harassment of his school days, it never got easier to say it out loud. 

“Fine, sure, I’m bisexual,” he admitted, “But that means fuck-all. Just because two people happen to like the same gender doesn’t mean they’re going to want to shag each others’ brains out.”

“I know that, idiot,” Emma, pausing before her next remark “Trust me, I do.”

It took Adam a second to process that, and he noticed Emma was now looking back toward the house, her feet shuffling against the gravel. 

“Pretty liberal for a Tory, then.”

Emma turns to meet his eye, smiling wryly.

“It’s not exactly a known fact,” she explains, “And I’d prefer if people didn’t find out. I think if Phil knew I was getting more women than him he might actually top himself.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“Fuck off,” Emma laughed, “I’m half tempted to let Ollie know, though. His head would probably explode.”

Adam grinned, the idea of anything bad happening to Ollie Pissing Reeder starting to look rather attractive.

“So there’s a lesbian in the midst of Westminster, is there?”

Emma snorted. “More than one.” She saw Adam’s raised eyebrow. “None of your fucking business, Kenyon. You really were perfect at the Mail, all they seem to care about is torrid lesbian affairs too.”

Adam couldn’t argue with that. He pulled out his lighter, promising himself this would be the last one, and held the pack out to Emma. 

“Christ, I hope Stewart’s not out here.” She took a fag from the box, holding it to her mouth as Adam lit it. “I’ll get a memo tomorrow about how the ‘coalition image’ doesn’t have room for chainsmokers or lesbians. Anyway,” her voice softened, “About the whole Fergus thing. I know you don’t think he’s into you, or whatever your complex of self-pity is telling you. But you can’t deny the way he looks at you. Just think about it, that’s all I’m saying.”

-

Inside, Fergus was resolutely pissed. Like Adam, he had started drinking early, in an effort to numb the pain of being stuck in an old country house in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of Tories. They had spent dinner quietly commentating on their hatred for pretty much everyone else there, and on decamping to the hotel bar their plan was to continue in this vein, and get drunk enough to forget that they ever had to spend a whole evening socialising with Phil. However, Adam’s alcohol tolerance was a lot higher than Fergus’, and he had disappeared off somewhere, and now Fergus was starting to realise that being drunk by yourself is nowhere near as fun. He decided that the best idea would be to find Adam. Adam would look after him, he’d make it fun again. Standing up suddenly from his comfy chair in the corner of the bar, Fergus was very aware of the room spinning around him, and he wondered whether he was about to throw up. Steadying himself for a moment, he persevered, stumbling slightly as he navigated the room. It wasn’t as busy anymore, most of the older coalition members having retired to bed. The odd pair or small group remained, and Fergus’ eyes lit up as he saw a dark-haired man sitting at the bar. He made a beeline for him, and it was only when he placed both hands on the man’s shoulders, and a face he didn’t know turned around, that this was in fact Not Adam. Fergus delivered a sweary and slurred apology to the man - Johnny? Joe? Jeremy? - before stumbling further into the room. He was beginning to become more and more aware of his skin flushing, and found himself in need of air. Noticing a large window hanging slightly ajar, Fergus slumped onto the considerable windowsill, the cool glass soothing his drunken complexion. It had become almost pitch black outside - when did it get dark? Fergus was sure it was about 5pm when he last looked at his watch, although his vision was known to rapidly debilitate once he started drinking. Whatever time it was, it was definitely dark out, and Fergus could only just make out the back of two bodies, hunched together on the outer wall of the patio. The shorter of the two turned their head back towards the house for a second, and it became clear that this was Emma. Fergus laughed to himself, pitying the poor fucker she had lured into her bitchy clutches. When the poor fucker himself also turned around, Fergus’ stomach dropped. He wasn’t mistaken this time; Adam was sat on a wall with Emma, of all people, and she was wearing his jacket. Fucking hell. He knew Adam got around, and he was certainly charming, but Emma, of all people? Fergus felt sick, and it wasn’t entirely down to the alcohol. Had it been any other situation, anyone else, he would have barrelled out there and laughed at them, but he was frozen to the windowsill. He couldn’t even look at Adam, his eyes fixated on Emma, who was smiling and laughing, and -  _ fucking hell -  _ leaning in towards Adam. He couldn’t watch the rest. The next morning, Fergus wouldn’t remember how he got to the bathroom, but he would remember throwing up like he was 16 in a pub he had lied to get into, and he would remember falling asleep staring at the wall dividing his and Adam’s rooms, trying not to think about what was inevitably happening on the other side. 

-

At around midnight, Adam staggered into his room alone. Pretty quickly after the final cigarettes had been smoked, he and Emma had been beaten by the cold and retired inside to the bar. He had scanned the room in hope of finding Fergus propping up the bar, but to his disappointment, he was nowhere to be seen.  _ Probably off attempting to talk to some poor woman and totally fucking it up _ , he thought, not entirely kindly. He thought about just going to bed, getting an early night, but he knew that that would end in him thinking about Fergus. And besides, here he was at a hotel with an open bar being paid for by the general public’s taxes, and if he wasn’t going to take this particular advantage of being in coalition with the Tories then what, quite frankly, was the point of being there? So he and Emma sequestered two comfy chairs near a fire and a slightly terrifying stuffed and mounted deer head (this really was the countryside), and set about drinking their way through the bar menu. For two people who had spent the coalition so far making snide jibes at each other, they had found a fair bit in common over the course of the evening. By the time it reached midnight, Adam had learned to his total glee that Emma (or rather her parents) did actually own horses and go hunting, and that she had once had a fling with Angela Heaney. “Of all the fucking women in Westminster,” Adam had laughed, “You had a secret affair with your ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend.” Emma had shrugged and tried to brush it off, but there was no disguising her pride at the satisfying kind of irony of the situation. She was just glad she hadn’t been living with Phil at the time. Over the course of the evening, she and Adam had got steadily drunker, back up to the point they had reached before their meeting outside. They decided to call it a night getting close to 12 o’ clock, the 9am start the next day looming over them. Waiting for the lift up to their floor, they had become very aware of the way it looked when two people of roughly the same age got into a lift together at one of these events, and were almost tempted to start a scandal just for the joy of seeing Phil’s face. Adam had pictured Fergus’ reaction to finding out that his advisor (and his best/only friend) was shagging Emma of all people, and the twist in his gut had suggested that maybe it wouldn’t be such a funny joke. Emma had got out of the lift at her floor, leaving Adam alone to stare at himself in the floor-length mirrored doors. He realised in annoyance that he’d left his jacket with Emma.  _ Still _ , he thought, wiggling his eyebrows and making stupid faces at his reflection,  _ maybe Fergus will be up.  _ He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the ginger idiot. Even if he could never tell him how he felt, he could at least go and chat shit with him about being surrounded by Tories in the fucking countryside. Leaving the lift, Adam wandered down the corridor until he found Fergus’ room. He was ready to knock on the door and demand him to open up, when his hand caught on the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign. He contemplated whether Fergus was shagging (unlikely) or asleep (more likely) and left it. He knew well enough by now not to wake Fergus up, and resigned himself to his own room, slumping onto the bed with barely the energy to take his clothes off. He stared at the wall, trying not to think about what could have happened if he was on the other side.

-

Nobody was exempt from a hangover the next morning. Nobody, except - of course - Stewart, who had absolutely no sympathy for the grumbling, coffee clutching, head-holding masses.  _ He scheduled this 9am session deliberately, like some kind of fascist, _ thought Adam, as he splashed his face with cold water in an attempt to clear his head. Still, at least it was team-building and not actual work. He and Fergus would probably be able to spend the two hours ( _ two fucking hours)  _ laughing at an under-the-weather Glenn and eating biscuits.  _ Food. _ The thought of breakfast almost had Adam lunging for the sink, but he knew he probably ought to eat something if he was going to make it through the day without biting anyone’s head off  _ too _ severely. Choosing to ignore his bagged eyes and pale face in the bathroom mirror, he left the tiny ensuite and put together something resembling an outfit, before thumping a fist against the dividing wall.

“Wakey wakey, dickhead! Are you coming to breakfast with me or is your head too far down the shitter?”

No reply. Adam didn’t think too much of it; Fergus was either still asleep or already downstairs, both of which were entirely possible. He took the lift down to the hotel’s restaurant alone, the smell of cooking food only adding to his alcohol-induced nausea, but the thought of finding out what his advisee got up to last night keeping him vaguely positive. His mood was slightly bolstered upon the entrance into the lift of both Phil and Peter, who it was fair to say, looked even worse than he did. Adam made a point of saying so, to which he received a glare from Peter and an obscure mythological reference from Phil, which he presumed was some kind of insult. They were joined at the entrance to the restaurant by Emma, who was clutching a Tesco bag alongside her stack of folders, presumably full of ‘fun’ activities masterminded by Stewart. She looked remarkably unscathed by a night of heavy drinking, and proceeded to order a Full English with enough grease and carbohydrates to make everyone else turn a greener shade of nauseous. Adam had opted for a bottle of water and dry toast, in the hope he’d be able to get through to lunchtime without bringing anything back up. Still no sign of Fergus, so he sat with Emma, who chose to taunt him with her lack of hangover and resulting ability to eat fried food. 

“Why aren’t you sitting with Fergus, anyway?” she asked, scanning the room, “I’d have thought he’d at least have been able to drag himself out of bed - didn’t he turn in a fair few hours before us?”

Adam shrugged, picking at his toast unenthusiastically. “Dunno. I imagine he’ll turn up at the last minute with some magical hangover cure his mum packed for him. What’s in the bag anyway? Did you  _ go to a shop _ ? Stewart might have you shot for leaving the grounds.”

“I woke up super early, fancied a walk,” she explained, emptying the contents of the bag onto the table. Aspirin and paracetemol, 20 Marlboro Lights and a box of chai tea-bags. She noticed Adam’s raised eyebrow, rolling her eyes.

“Fuck off, the tea’s for Stewart, there’s no chai here and he’ll go mental when he finds out. And there’s no way I’m getting through a whole weekend of this without those.” Adam eyed the packet of cigarettes, the graphic photo of tar-ravaged lungs on the front doing nothing to ease his hangover. “And the aspirin are for you. I had a feeling you’d be in a state this morning, you were  _ very  _ gone last night.”

Adam was touched by that, if a little suspicious. 

“And you’re being nice to me because…?”

Emma looked around the room uncomfortably: “I don’t exactly want what I told you last night getting out. I’m assuming you’ve spilled all my secrets to Fergus but I’d rather you didn’t spread it all around the coalition.”

Adam hadn’t spilled any secrets, of course, although it was a fair assumption. 

“Your secret’s safe with me,” he nodded, “Although if I ever do meet Ollie Pissing Reeder, I might spontaneously combust from the effort of not telling him his ex-girlfriends have shagged.” 

-

Fergus was, surprisingly, not at all hungover. He chalked it up to an early night, although ‘early night’ wasn’t entirely true. He had lain under the covers, completely awake, wondering what was going on on the other side of the wall for a good hour. The thought of Adam presumably bringing Emma into his room had plagued him, and he couldn’t decide whether it would be worse to fall asleep and hear nothing, but wake up with an unknown entity between him and Adam, or to stay awake and possibly hear things he’d never be able to unhear. Eventually, he had put earplugs in, just in case he woke up in the middle of something unspeakable, and prayed for sleep to come. He had slept fitfully, spinning through dreams involving Adam, Emma, and all sorts of confusing and unpleasant situations involving them excluding him. At one point, he had woken up in such a frenzy of anxiety that he was fully prepared to march next door and demand to know what was going on. He thought of what his mother would say about being sensible and not making a tit of himself in Westminster, decided the same probably applied in Hertfordshire and went back to bed. All the tossing and turning during the night had sobered Fergus up pretty successfully, and he woke up early, with not even a suggestion of a headache. He was, however, in possession of a sick feeling in his stomach that only intensified when he stared at the wall in front of his bed. He couldn’t remember all the details of the night before, but it would have been impossible to forget seeing Adam with Emma. He didn’t understand why he was so fucking furious about the concept. Well, he did. He knew exactly what it was that upset him, but there was no way he’d admit to it. It was hardly appropriate for a Junior Minister to have those kinds of feelings for his advisor, and anyway, Adam was known for sleeping around to score political points; he’d hardly want to do that kind of thing with Fergus, would he? And it wasn’t like Adam knew how Fergus felt, but that didn’t stop him feeling a vitriolic fury towards both him and Emma as he came down to breakfast. He had ignored Adam’s knock against the wall, not particularly wanting to third-wheel in the small lift, and decided to wait until the coast would definitely be clear, and to turn up to the 9am session as late as possible. Unfortunately, Fergus’ stomach was stronger than his anger, and the smell of cooking bacon wafting up through the corridors was enough to draw him down to the restaurant. He would sit alone, he decided, and consider whether it was childish to text his mother and ask her to fake a family emergency. Upon entering the hotel restaurant, he couldn’t help but scan the room for Adam, and found him almost instantly, sat opposite Emma.  _ So he shagged her _ , Fergus resolved,  _ he shagged her and now he’s taking her for breakfast.  _ He tried to swallow the burning lump in his throat as the two of them laughed together,  _ probably at his expense. Adam knows I’m in love with him, and the two of them find it fucking hilarious.  _

“What would you like, darling?”

Fergus stared at the kind-eyed lady ready to take his order. Nothing came out. He blinked at her enough times to do a solid impression of Ben Swain, apologised profusely and turned on his heel, unable to stay in the room and not either throw up or cry for a moment longer.

-

Adam had noticed Fergus come into the room, of course he had. He’d grinned, and been ready to call over to him to join their table, when Fergus made his swift exit. Adam frowned - he knew what a hungover Fergus looked like, and that wasn’t it. He looked like he was about to burst into tears. That wasn’t exactly ideal for the impending day of team building, so Adam excused himself from his and Emma’s table and did his most casual speed-walk out of the restaurant. He could see Fergus at the other side of the lobby, and called out to him, but to no avail. “Fergus, mate, what’s the problem?” Still nothing. He rounded a corner, and came to an empty meeting room, where Fergus stood, staring out of the window and breathing heavily.

“Fergs?”

“Fuck off, Adam.”

Had he done something wrong last night that he didn’t remember? As far as he could recall, he hadn’t seen Fergus for hours before he’d gone to bed. He’d left him to go and smoke, he remembered that much. Was that it, seriously?

“Is this about me going off for a smoke? Christ, Fergus, I know it’s a bad habit but it hardly deserves the silent treatment.”

Nothing, then, for what seemed like forever. Finally, just as Adam was starting to wonder if Fergus had died standing-up, he turned from the window. His eyes were red, and his skin had gone all blotchy.

“Fucking hell, Fergs, what-”

“Don’t fucking do this, Adam.” Fergus’ voice was wobbly, and angrier than Adam had ever heard it before. “Don’t make out like you  _ care. _ ”

“I do care, what- what’s this all about? I barely remember seeing you last night, did I do something?”

Adam could feel blood rushing in his ears now, and it wasn’t the hangover that was sending waves of nausea through him.

“You tell me,” Fergus snapped, “From what I can tell you were pretty busy doing  _ something _ , yeah. Or should I say some _ one? _ ”

It dawned on Adam what the fuck Fergus was talking about, and he almost laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of his insinuation.

“Are you talking about  _ Emma _ ? Fucking hell, Fergs, what do you think happened?”

There was another horrible silence while Fergus figured out which words were the least likely to make himself vomit.

“You and her… didn’t you? I saw you…”

“You saw us smoking, yeah. We had a chat about personal stuff, then we came inside ‘cause it was cold and you were nowhere to be seen. Listen, why are you so bothered? Are you jealous of her or something?” Adam joked. The blood drained from Fergus’ face, and Adam felt his heart stop.

“I didn’t mean you were- I’m not saying you like -” He ran out of words as he realised what he had done, and what Fergus wasn’t saying.

“Fergs?”

He could practically see Fergus’ brain combust.

“Fucking hell, Adam.” His voice was barely audible. “You weren’t meant to find out like this.”

Adam had practically stopped breathing now. This was fucking huge, and whatever he said next was going to change everything. 

“You idiot,” he said slowly, “You absolute idiot.”

The panic in Fergus’ eyes was unbearable. He turned back to the window, unable to meet Adam’s gaze.

“Look, Adam, just pretend I never said anything. I can leave, you can switch departments, whatever gets you away from me, I’m so fucking sorry-”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I’m in love with you, you absolute fucking bellend!” Adam exploded. He vaguely registered a pin dropping somewhere in the far reaches of the hotel as Fergus turned to look at him. They were both crying now, and Adam had to laugh at the idea of someone walking in on two grown men declaring their love for each other through a series of tears and expletives.

“You are?” 

“Of course I fucking am, you oblivious twat,” Adam laughed, “From the moment I met you. Why the fuck else would I have taken a job trying to get you elected in a fucking Tory stronghold?”   
“My dazzling political skills?” suggested Fergus, now equally hysterical, “Jesus, Adam, you could have said something earlier!”

“I thought you were shagging that girl from your block,” Adam admitted, and Fergus’ eyes bulged at the very thought.

“Vicky? Fucking hell, absolutely not! Christ Adam-”   
Neither of them knew what else to say. The sheer size of the now-vanished elephant in the room had left a space between them that now seemed absolutely fucking enormous. Adam laughed again - was declaring love meant to be this funny? 

“Fergs, mate, I’m not being funny but I’ve waited a long fucking time to kiss you, can we fucking get on with it, please?”

In years to come, neither of them would remember who kissed who (both would claim it was them), but somehow Adam found himself shoved up against the slammed door, with Fergus fucking Williams’ tongue down his throat. He wondered for a moment whether he should mention the 9am session that had almost certainly started by now, but his decision was made for him by a hand creeping up his leg. Stewart’s team-building shit could wait a while - there were more important matters in hand.

-

When Fergus and Adam finally made it to the team-building, at 9:37am, they made an excuse about a constituency emergency. It wasn’t good, but it was enough to satisfy Stewart. They slid into seats at the back of the room, breathing hard and trying not to smile. Adam scanned the room to make sure nobody was watching, and gently placed his hand over Fergus’. His phone buzzed against his leg, and he surreptitiously opened a text from Emma:  _ nice work kenyon. looks like we aren’t the only gays in the village ;).  _ He grinned to himself, tracing his thumb over Fergus’ and finally, properly exhaling. It was all going to be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed whatever this was. aware its unlikely that that kind of team-building shit merits a whole weekend away on the taxpayer's quid but hey ho it worked for the story. lmk if u liked it or hated it xxx


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